


it's you, who hangs the moon

by bucketofrice



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/M, Fluff and Humour, and cameos galore, he wants to make this right, he's a nervous dude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 09:46:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16658846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bucketofrice/pseuds/bucketofrice
Summary: The five steps to planning the perfect proposal, plus what to do when it all goes out the window.





	it's you, who hangs the moon

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I started this thing way back in August, got half a part in, gave up on it, let it sit in my drafts folder and nearly forgot it existed. Fast forward to now, and talking about reorganizing files with some lovely humans, and I found it again today, and now it's here! Yay!
> 
> (Thank you to EastFromEden and londongrammar for giving this a look. The polar bears are for you.)
> 
> Title is "Hangs the Moon" by Arkells. Hope you like it :')

**_i. realize she’s the love of your life_ **

It hits him on the exit from a lift, clear as day and painfully obvious. He nearly drops her, he’s momentarily so shell-shocked, but he’s Scott, and she’s Tessa and he won’t drop her, not ever.

He’s never been more glad for his split-second reflexes, because all it takes is one minor re-calibration and his grip is sure again. He lowers her back on the ice with care and lets out a breath as he hears her blades touch the ground.

He catches her eyes and she quirks a brow and he moves his head side to side by a fraction of a degree and that’s that for this particular conversation for the rest of the training session. It’s imperceptible to an outsider, but he sees the confusion and concern in her gaze and he’s pretty sure she sees what he hopes is reassurance in the minute shake of his head. They’ve always been able to speak without words, in their own language.

They’ve always been so finely attuned to each other, so tethered together that he dreads the very thought of his life without her in it, dreads losing half of his whole.

She’s part of him in every way possible, and he’s known this for forever, really. But it’s only recently that he’s allowed himself to paint a clear mental picture of his future, and know without a shadow of a doubt that he’ll do everything in his power to make sure she’s in it—for good.

She’s _it_ for him, his be all end all, has been since she wore oversized mittens and giant bows and thought she liked tutus more than figure skates.

She was it for him when they were young and fit together like puzzle pieces, perfectly moulded to each other’s contours. She was still it for him even when they tried to drift apart but were unable to attach properly to anyone else—cutting rough, jagged edges in the process. Now, they fit together again; years of actively reconnecting have sanded down the splinters. They’re softer, their pieces line up gently, and together, they form a whole.

He goes through the motions for the next half hour as Sam directs them around the rink, clicking and bopping his head to the imaginary music—one of their new pieces for an upcoming show. Marie-France cuts in every once in a while, offering snippets of advice and dry remarks. It’s a normal practice session, a situation they’ve found themselves in thousands of times, but at the same time, it’s entirely different.

It’s different because Scott has a new level of clarity now, is finally letting himself put together a concrete plan for his future. Not in the professional sense, but in every other way that matters.

“You okay?” Tessa asks when they get a five-minute water break.

He nods and smiles, squeezing her arm reassuringly.

He’s more than okay, actually. Because the thing he realized, on the exit from that lift, is a thought that feels as natural as breathing.

_He’s gonna marry Tessa Virtue. And he’s gonna propose to her soon._

 

**_ii. freak out a little (a lot)_ **

For just how calm Scott was once he realized he was going to propose, he’s sure as hell not feeling any of that now. No, three hours later, his realization at the rink is starting to feel incredibly real, and like something he has to actually act on.

And that scares him shitless.

Sure, he and Tessa have been together for almost three years now, or over twenty-one, depending on how you count it, but still. Marriage?

Marriage is a whole new ballgame.

He knows they both want forever; they’ve talked about it, they talk about everything these days. He knows that they’re both ready for this, for at least the next seventy years. (Truth be told, he wants more than seventy years if he can get them, because he’s greedy for any scrap of time with her and unashamed to admit it.) He knows all these things and yet… there’s the small issue of actually having to propose to her. 

Which, he realizes as he sits on the couch and starts googling internet proposals, is going to be a hell of a lot more complicated than he thought. By the time his YouTube auto-queue spits out the third flashmob proposal in a row, he’s pretty sure he’s headed straight to panic.

According to the internet, this is the surefire way to surprise your girlfriend, the proposal she won’t be able to forget, the _perfect_ moment. But to him, it just feels horribly, terribly wrong.

Tessa would never want a spectacle, ever.

She’d probably go running for the hills if he surprised her with a flash mob, or a skywriter, or a song and dance, and truth be told, he would too. The idea of a public proposal feels so wrong to him, so antithetical to everything he and Tessa have worked for over the course of the two decades they’ve spent by each other’s side.

No, this has to be between the two of them. _Just us_. He’s said it so often, but now, it’s more important than ever. Just them, in their circle of two, _together_.

They’ve put so much work, so many hours and days and nights, into making their relationship what it is today. A partnership of equals, open and communicative and strong and sure. As actively worked-on as it was inevitable. Theirs, and theirs alone.

So, a public proposal is definitely out of the question. That much is for sure.

But that leaves an infinite amount of other ways for him to ask the question, and after a good half hour and falling into the rabbit hole of way too many crafting blogs (which, side note: there are _crafting_ _blogs_?) and cheesy Facebook videos, he closes his laptop with a resounding _thunk_ and flops back into the couch cushions.

He’s hopeless: hopelessly in love and hopelessly overwhelmed.

There’s really only one thing to do in this kind of a situation—find someone who’s been in your shoes before. And thankfully for Scott, that someone just happens to be his best friend.

“Chiddy?” he says after he hears the line click, “I’ve got a bit of a situation.”

 

**_iii. seek out some sage advice_ **

For all the practical advice Chiddy was able to give (it doesn’t amount to that much in the end, beyond encouragement and telling him to do something that’s meaningful to both him and Tessa, just like he did when he popped the question to Liz) Scott still feels like he’s on edge.

Sure, he knows Tessa wants forever with him—actually, he’s a good 97.5 percent certain of that happening, because if she doesn’t he’ll have to escape to Nunavut and live among the polar bears and he’s not so sure how they’d feel about getting a new neighbour—but the anticipation and butterflies deep in his gut won’t go away.

And as much as Chiddy’s a great best friend and even better cheerleader in all things Scott and Tessa, he needs the advice of someone who’s been in his particular situation. Someone who got married to their best friend, who also happened to be their skating partner. Someone who has started a family, settled down and made a second career for themselves.

Someone who’s as happy with their life right now as Scott can only dream he’ll one day be.

It’s how he finds himself sitting on a barstool next to Marie-France, who’s about to finish her first glass of wine and looks to be jonesing for a second.

“Mon cher,” she drawls, and Scott briefly wonders if he chose the right setting for this kind of heart-to-heart. “What is on your mind?”

Scott fiddles with the neck of his beer bottle, worrying the label loose and scrunching it up between his fingers. “I’m planning on proposing to Tess,” he says, and the words tumble out of his mouth like the loose change in the corner of his skate bag. It feels good to have them out in the open though, to acknowledge that he’s making a plan, is going to set this in motion.

“Yes, I know” is all Marie says, and Scott whips his head around, looking at her like a gaping fish.

“Wha—” he all but sputters, and Marie chuckles.

“Scott, it was only a matter of time with the two of you.”

He lets out a deep breath. Yeah, he supposes it was, in a way. There were about a thousand subtle and not-so-subtle signs from the universe, and a constant (if not always conscious) effort to choose each other, over and over again. “I guess I’m just nervous,” he says, as he folds together a scrap of his wrapper.

Marie places a comforting hand on his forearm. “Scott, that girl loves you so much, and you love her so much. You are meant to be, vous êtes écrits dans le ciel, how do you say, written in the stars. You have no need for nerves.”

“I know,” Scott says, and he means it. Still, the insecurities linger. “It’s just—how did Patch know that you were ready? How did _you_ know you were ready?”

It’s part of the reason why he’s in this bar with Marie, not her husband, because she’d sworn off marriage after her parents’ divorce—even when she and Patch were already committed to forever. He fears Tessa feels the same, that she wants forever, but maybe not with the paperwork and confines of silver to hold her down.

“It’s when all your plans are tied together, or complement each others, for years to come,” Marie says, a smile dancing on her lips. “You’ve signed joint business contracts. What’s one more sheet of paper going to change about that?”

 

**_iv. get the blessing_ **

The Virtue women are strong and independent and fierce and kind, and sometimes, well sometimes they scare the hell out of Scott. There, he said it.

Kate Virtue has a glare that can freeze whole towns if she chooses to unleash it, and Jordan would lawyer him into oblivion before he even accidentally bent a strand of her baby sister’s hair. They’re powerful, even more so in combination, and Scott knows he must tread lightly if he wants to get their blessing to marry the youngest of the clan.

(Kevin and Casey are similarly protective, but it only took two five-minute phone calls and they were overjoyed about _Scotty boy_ finally “getting his shit together and proposing to Sam.”)

Jordan and Kate are a whole other issue.

They’re both sitting on the stark-white sofa in Kate’s living room (which is one hundred percent where Tessa got her decorating style from) and their faces are pixellated by the resolution of the Skype call interface.

He’d scheduled (god, that sounds weird even to him) the call for when Tessa was definitely going to be at Pilates, not wanting to risk her walking in on this conversation. He’s nervous enough as-is, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to divert this well enough if she accidentally stumbled upon it.

“Hey,” Scott finally says, rubbing his hands together in that way he does when he’s nervous. “How are you guys?”

“We’re doing well!” Kate launches into a recap of all things happening in London and Ilderton (nothing passes the legendary Alma-Kate grapevine) and pretty soon, he’s caught up on everything he could ever need to know, and more. It’s only when Jordan not-so-subtly nudges her mother that the chatter dies down and Scott feels both their gazes pierce the screen.

“So, Scott,” Jordan starts, and the nervous feeling in his stomach increases tenfold. “What did you need to tell us?” She gasps. “Oh my god, is Tess pregnant?”

“No!” Scott shouts, probably a little too quickly. “I mean, no, we’re not even thinking about that for a few years, at least.”

“Then what’s going on?” Kate looks positively concerned now, and Scott knows he has to rein it all back in.

“I, uh,” he starts, awkwardly, running his hands through his hair and focusing intently on the smudge in the top left corner of his laptop screen. “I love your daughter, Kate, more than anything in the world. And Jordan, I just want what’s best for your sister, like I know you do too.” He clears his throat, takes one breath, then two. “I guess what I’m saying is that I’m going to ask Tessa to marry me, and I just wanted to, I guess, let you know?”

He doesn’t want their blessing, per se, didn’t want her brothers’ either, because Tessa is a strong, independent woman and isn’t an object to be given away. But he thinks he owes her family the heads-up at least, because they’ve been part of his family for as long as he can remember, and he wants them to have a part in this.

(And he won’t lie, there is definitely still a bit of him that’s as scared of Kate Virtue as he was when he was nine years old and snuck two cookies from the jar in her kitchen for him and Tessa and got caught red-handed. As he said before, that woman’s death glare could freeze the sun.)

In the end, it turns out that his words are enough to get both Kate and Jordan to start crying—from happiness, he’s thrilled to find out—and soon, there’s a cacophony of sniffles and “gosh, Scotty” filling the room and it feels like a weight has been lifted of his chest.

“Welcome to the family,” Kate eventually manages, and Scott feels like the grin he’s sporting might crack his face in two.

 

**_v. buy a ring_ **

Scott doesn’t think he’s ever been this overwhelmed in his life.

He and Patch are standing in front of a jewellery display case filled with rings of all shapes, sizes and cuts and he truly has no idea what the hell he’s doing right now. He picked the jeweller because it’s a little shop, an old, independent one in the historic part of Montreal.

Tessa has always been an old soul, and one of the most unique people he’s ever met, and he wants her ring to reflect that.

He needs it to be special, and understated, and undeniably her.

And yet—none of those qualifiers are in any way specific enough to be of any help to the jeweller who’s currently standing on the other side of the case, watching them attentively.

“Puis-je vous aider?” the elderly man asks, peeking at them over the rims of his glasses, a knowing smile on his face. He’s wearing one of those leather aprons and a blue shirt with a bow tie. He’s a bit like a dainty elf, Scott thinks, and he manages to stop himself just in time lest he publicly chuckle at his own mental image of the man standing on the North Pole.

“Oui, merci,” Patch says on his behalf, before asking the jeweller if he’d be comfortable switching to English.

The old man nods before turning to Scott. “So you would like to propose?”

“Yeah,” Scott says, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I, uh, don’t know anything about rings though. She’d want something simple, though, and elegant, and understated.”

“She’s an old soul,” Patch chimes in, and Scott shoots him a grateful look. He and Tessa have always been similar in demeanour, both calm and collected, and he knows Patch thinks of her like a daughter. Scott is so happy he came with him to the shop, knows he’d be even more frazzled without his guidance.

The jeweller pulls out some rings and arranges them on a velvet cushion, puttering about till he’s got a range of shapes and styles.

Scott had no idea a diamond could be cut in this many ways, that there were so many colours and facets and settings and styles. There are different metals and engravings and shapes and sizes and it’s kind of hard to keep it all straight.

But suddenly, he spots it. The green, gorgeous green catches his eye, and he points to the ring. It’s delicate, filigree almost, with a rhombus shaped diamond and two tiny emeralds on either side, all set in a dainty gold band. “That one.”

Patch looks at him, nods and smiles. “That is Tessa.”

The jeweller has a twinkle in his eye, and Scott feels tears pricking in his own. “An excellent choice.”

 

**_\+ i. hope to all hell that she says yes_ **

There’s a saying somewhere, probably, that warns that even with the most meticulous plans, every once in a while, the universe decides to throw you a curveball.

Well, in that case, Scott thinks, the universe can go right to hell.

He’s standing in the kitchen of their apartment in Montreal, watching in disdain as the last bit of the smoke clears on the roast he was cooking. Yeah, he realizes burning things in the kitchen is more Tessa’s M.O., but right now, he’s the one waving aggressively at his roast with a baking tray. _Fucking hell._

Ever since he started planning this proposal, he’s been meticulous. He set a date, made sure Tessa was going to be out for most of the evening meeting with sponsors, got Alma to send him a recipe, had Jordan help him pick out a dress shirt and slacks.

He’s got a bottle of Chiddy’s wine, candles, soft music playing in the background. For Christ’s sake, he’s even written (and memorized) a speech!

It’s all supposed to be perfect, and it’s all supposed to start in five minutes, because he timed the roast _just so_ , but now, it’s a black lump and he wouldn’t want to touch it with a ten-foot pole. He’s in the middle of trying to scrape together some sort of alternative meal—cheese and crackers, anyone? How about some leftover curry to go with the green beans and potatoes that thankfully didn’t burn?

He’s also yanked open the window in the kitchen and is rifling through the cupboard in search of Febreeze to deal with the odour when the lock to the front door clicks softly.

_Shit shit shit._

Tessa walks in, clearly still distracted, and drops her bag on the entryway table before shucking her coat and shoes. “I’m home! Scott, did you manage to get the dish soap and toilet paper earlier? We’re about to run out. Oh, and Cara says she wants you to be in an Insta for the shop this weekend, does that work? The hydro bill comes Monday—” She trails off and stops dead in her tracks when she sees the tableau before her.

Scott, in the kitchen next to a blackened roast, wearing a dress shirt and slacks, tea towel slung over his shoulder. Their dining table, set with their best plates and wine glasses, a cream tablecloth and candles. A lingering odour of smoke and burnt meat, intermingled with artificial citrus.

“Scott?” Tessa says, in that overly calm voice that she puts on when she’s truly not sure how to feel. “What’s going on?”

“Uh, this wasn’t supposed to look like this,” he starts, unsure of what to do or say. His face is scrunched together in a grimace. “It wasn’t supposed to _smell_ like this either, I mean, my mom sent her best recipe and Jordan helped me with the outfit.” He gestures dumbly to his feet, where his striped socks poke out from his shoes. “I just, I wanted you to have… you know, we’re private people so I wanted to make this special, a proposal just for the two of us—”

The way her eyes nearly bug out of her head stops him dead in his tracks. “A proposal?” she gasps, and he realizes with alarm that _yes_ , he did just say that out loud. _Fuck._

“Oh my god. Uh, yeah, it was supposed to be a surprise, but I’ve ruined that too now, and we’re gonna have to eat old curry, I’m afraid, and the apartment’s gonna be freezing and…”

“Scott.” She’s stepped closer to him now, and she carefully places a hand on his mouth. Probably best, lest he keep talking and get himself so far into this hole that he does have to find out whether or not polar bears are hostile housemates. “You’re proposing?”

With her hand still on his mouth, all he can do is nod. He sees the sparkle in her eyes though, the tears building and the huge grin on her face. She lets out a laugh that cracks a little.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, and finally, mercifully, lets go of his face.

“That was the plan, yeah,” he says sheepishly, surveying the chaos once more. “Fucked that up a little bit, eh?”

Tessa just laughs. “So, uh, you gonna do it, or what?”

Now it’s his turn to let out a watery laugh and he can’t believe this is actually happening. He drops to one knee before her and pulls the ring out of his pants pocket. It miraculously stayed where it was meant to be. (It’s the little things, he thinks.)

He clears his throat. “Tess, I—” He wrote down a speech for this moment, practised it countless times, left the paper copy in the back corner of his sock drawer. But nothing, nothing could’ve prepared him for this, for being on one knee across from the woman who’s his past, his present, his future, who owns his heart and soul. His mind draws a complete blank.

“Shit. I, uh, I had this whole speech. I was going to tell you how much I love you, and all these other things. And I can’t really remember any of them now.” He chuckles, self-deprecating. “I love you though, T, and that’s what counts, right? I love you, and I’ll love you forever if you let me. I don’t think I could stop though, I think me loving you is just kind of an inevitability at this point.”

He stops to catch his breath and realizes he’s crying. She is too.

“So, I guess all that’s left to ask is this. Will you marry me, Tessa Jane? Will you make me the luckiest guy on the planet?”

Her _yes_ is a whisper, then a nod, then a crouch so she’s eye-level, then a hug, then a searing kiss. Then, when they break apart and he slips the ring on her finger, it’s a mantra, one she repeats over and over.

And much later, when they’re dancing in their kitchen after eating leftover curry and green beans and potatoes, two empty bottles of Chiddy’s wine on the counter, he realizes this proposal isn’t what he thought it would be at all. It’s not perfect, it’s not extravagant.

But he’s there, and she’s there, and they’re getting married.

It’s all that matters.

_It’s theirs._

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Hated it? Yell at me in the comments or on Twitter (@_bucketofrice) or Tumblr (@good-things-come-in-threes)!
> 
> (This is the ring, btw https://i.etsystatic.com/14861826/c/570/452/0/102/il/fc2eb6/1518715342/il_340x270.1518715342_93ot.jpg)


End file.
